John Donne

The Relique

       When my grave is broke up againe 
       Some second ghest to entertaine, 
       (For graves have learn'd that woman-head, 
       To be to more than one a Bed) 
                And he that digs it, spies 
A bracelet of bright haire about the bone, 
                Will he not let'us alone, 
And thinke that there a loving couple lies, 
Who thought that this device might be some way 
To make their soules, at the last busie day, 
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay? 

        If this fall in a time, or land, 
        Where mis-devotion doth command, 
        Then he, that digges us up, will bring 
        Us, to the Bishop, and the King, 
                To make us Reliques; then 
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I 
                A something else thereby; 
All women shall adore us, and some men; 
And since at such time, miracles are sought, 
I would have that age by this paper taught 
What miracles wee harmlesse lovers wrought. 

        First, we lov'd well and faithfully, 
        Yet knew not what wee lov'd, nor why, 
        Difference of sex no more wee knew 
        Than our Guardian Angells doe; 
                Coming and going, wee 
Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales; 
                Our hands ne'er touch'd the seales, 
Which nature, injur'd by late law, sets free: 
These miracles wee did, but now alas, 
All measure, and all language, I should passe, 
Should I tell what a miracle shee was.